One hour and forty-five minutes of constant practicing with a particularly hard volleyball.
Maybe some would say that it’s not much of a feat, but to me, it certainly is. It’s the first time I’ve ever willingly practiced a sport of pain, and it’s also the longest time I’ve ever willingly practiced any sport in one sitting. And I’ve certainly got the battle scars to show for it.
My right arm is now littered with tiny bruises and dots of clotted blood. My wrist has an invisible, tender, slightly swollen spot more painful than any of the bruises.
And yes, I feel like I’ve been battered by a meat tenderizer. It’s better now, but last night, my arm got hit by one breeze from the electric fan and it twinged with pain. I never thought that could happen.
The practice itself was amazing. Constantly hitting the (much too hard) ball with as much strength as I could muster, until I was crying out with the pain of trying to serve… And still continuing to practice. By the time we finished, my arm looked like it had a thick red glove on it, and by the time night fell, the clots decided to show themselves.
All in all it was a great experience, one I would like to repeat.
Thanks, Adrian.
For the ball and for teaching me. I came out injured, and not a victor in the battle to conquer volleyball, but I came out with newfound courage.
Next time I’ll be injured still, but triumphant.
Oh yeah. And one day, I’ll be in a volleyball team. I’ll make sure of it.




